Last Morning in the FOB
by Kuiakaituhi
Summary: The soldiers are leaving for Bastion. All is not well between Molly Dawes and Captain James whose jealousy has got the better of him. How can he repair the hurt to Molly? What are they saying with their eyes?
1. Chapter 1

LAST MORNING IN THE FOB

 _This is one of most moving parts of the Captain James/Molly Dawes love story to me. I have never been quite sure of what is going on between them as they look so intensely and wordlessly into one another's eyes. This, I think, is how it might have been._

Early morning light in Afghanistan had an eerie, blueish tinge. For Molly, catching the first few minutes of the dawn on her own was special. She would wait for the sun to lift itself lazily at first and then rapidly from behind the mountains, aware that the coolness she felt was only fleeting, that the heat would soon be searing. The blue haze would dissipate and there would be a gradual murmur of conversation as the platoon woke up. Soon the murmur would be punctuated with the loud man-noises with which she'd learned to live over the past months and the boys would stumble out to the latrines, to have their first smoke of the day, to get a drink, to stretch their awkward bodies.

Usually there wasn't a lot of spare time before Captain James would arrive, fully uniformed and kitted up, ready for a PT session which would be followed by a run around the internal perimeter of the base. Stragglers and slackers were rare, the consequences usually a day or two of latrine duty, the most hated job on the Base. Molly was always first up and first ready. This small window of time had become precious to her and she knew Captain James enjoyed it too. The two of them had a few minutes to talk alone as they waited for the rest of the platoon to surface. They would walk quietly to an area behind the medic's tent. Neither said so but both knew they were beginning a dangerous game as they sought more and more secluded spots on the Base.

Mostly they talked about home things. Molly told him stories of her brothers and sisters and about her life in East London. Captain James was an only child and was moved by the obvious love she had for her siblings, for whom she seemed always to have carried a great deal of responsibility. He was rather envious of them having a big sister like Molly. Of course, the feelings he was beginning to have for Dawes were anything but brotherly. She made him smile often and sometimes he laughed out loud at her tales, asking for more about her Mum and Nan. Slowly she revealed tiny parts of her very difficult relationship with Dave, her father, and he could begin to understand how damaging to her spirit it had been since she was a little girl.

Her early morning face was startlingly beautiful. She would plait her hair afresh each day. No tendrils would yet have escaped, her huge green eyes would sparkle and her skin was smooth apart from her dimples, at which he particularly enjoyed looking. Her neck and throat were enticing. Each morning he allowed himself the same fantasy. He could only imagine how amazing it would feel to nuzzle into her neck, to kiss her slowly under her ears and along her throat and jawline until he reached her mouth and then…

This was dangerous territory for the captain. He was sure that Dawes was onto him by the second week that they met in the morning but she was always there to greet him, all shiny and new. He was falling for her, big time. He needed most definitely to keep his hands to himself, to not touch. If he did he knew he would be gone in a heartbeat, betraying himself and Molly to the other squaddies as they tumbled out of the tent, bleary eyed and complaining. He had learned it was safer to move away from Molly a little earlier, to make his way to the front of the tent and to put on his best Captain Stern Face look as they formed ranks. She would fall into the line, making her way from a different direction than him.

Two weeks had passed, however, since their last morning meeting and there would be no more. Molly had returned from leave and he knew that his appalling, jealous behaviour the day before probably meant that she would never speak to him again.

This would have been the last time, anyhow, because they were going back to Bastion today, their work in the FOB supposedly done. He had his reservations about just how effective they had been. The level of risk to which they had all been subjected bothered him and he was certainly less ready to trust those higher in rank than he had been at the time of Dawes' first few patrols.

While she had been on leave, he had been through agonies of jealousy and worry over Molly. The squaddies invented a series of crude guessing games over what she and Smurf were supposedly doing on leave. Infuriated by their disrespect and crassness, he almost lost it with Fingers and Nude Nut one evening until he was saved from total disaster by Qaseem who diverted their attention towards a card game with a group of Special Force soldiers.

The Afghani , widely respected for his experience and quiet wisdom, told Captain James that he had become aware of the growing attraction between him and Molly. His daughter would have been the same age as Molly had she not been killed by the Taliban and he would have been very happy if that daughter had the strength and beauty of character that he recognised in Molly. As well, he said, had his daughter found a man with the captain's integrity, leadership and capacity to love, he would have been delighted. Captain James took this as the ultimate compliment.

Advising caution and the wisdom to wait, Qaseem warned the captain not to be blindsided by jealousy. Rather, he could be planning a safe way to talk with Molly on her return and to work out some strategies so that they could successfully wait out till they returned to Brize Norton. Smiling in his enigmatic, gentle way Qaseem said he was sure that Molly was having very similar feelings to those of Captain James. From a man who had truly been there himself, he said he could see two people falling very deeply in love. For now, they needed to manage their feelings so that neither career was put at risk and so that neither would be embarrassed or shamed.

So what had he done when Molly had arrived back? At the first sound of the chopper's approach he had gone racing to the lookout like a lovesick teenager and had fallen right into the trap of listening to the stupid stuff the squaddies called out to Smurf and Molly. Did he stop to think that she might have found it embarrassing? What they were calling out or his racing up the ladder? Had he waited to talk to her? Was he even really civil to her? No, he behaved like a prat, ordering her around and hurting her by his curtness. It was clear that she was bewildered at his greeting, but by now he was on a jealous roll and couldn't seem to stop himself. Afterwards, he was disgusted with himself when he remembered how she had had to know how he was, had joked about his blisters, had looked into his eyes and told him she had really wanted to come back. She had been to Newport, as it turned out, and when yet another quip about Smurf was made by Kinders, he completely lost the plot and swept out of the tent in a rage. He was very lucky that Kinders did not cotton onto what was happening. Molly certainly did. And none of it was her fault.

Unaware of the pain he had caused her in the tent, or more likely still angry with her for some imagined betrayal, he strode past her later in the day when she tried to tell him that she and Smurf had merely been keeping one another company and that nothing had happened between them. As she called out, asking when they were leaving the FOB the next day, he curtly answered with the time and told her to pack. When she further asked if that was the end, of them or of their time in the FOB he was not sure, he had turned his back on her and did not answer.

He had gone on guard duty, sulking as he stared out over their particular patch of Talibanland for the last time. Not once since she had been back had he thought about the day she left, the overwhelming surge of emotion as he had written 'Rosabaya' on her arm, asked her to buy him some of his special coffee in London and then to come back to him. He had not known he would speak those words that had been in his heart for some time, he realised. Nor had he been prepared for her promise to come back and that he should not worry. Letting her go in that helicopter had been very hard, especially when she made it clear she would rather stay.

And here he was off duty, taking his armoured vest off, and there it was, on his pillow, the sleeve of Rosabaya. Why would she bother to go out of her way to do this for him if she was with another man? Had it really meant something to her that he had written the word on her arm and asked her to return to him? Had she waited till he was out of sight to bring the coffee to his tent so that she wouldn't have to talk to him and be hurt again? Did she care for him, after all? What had he done? Had he got it all wrong?

His mind was racing. He sat, holding her gift, suddenly feeling very sad and, he had to admit it, ashamed of himself. He would have to sort this out, but there was nothing he could do tonight. What he must do was to pack his bergen and the rest of his gear, in readiness for their departure early in the morning before the heat got up.

Back before his jealousy had taken over he had hoped that this might be the morning that he and Molly would talk about their feelings, their future and waiting out. He had planned to ask her to join him a little earlier than usual but that chance was all gone now. It would be very difficult to find space and time to do so at Bastion. So, he had blown this, too. He would have to think through a new plan, one which would not wound Molly any further.

And here she was now, in the blue Afghanistan dawn, moving slowly around the FOB. He imagined that, like him, she was committing details about this place to her memory. Standing out of her line of sight, he watched her closely. She looked tired and sad and so beautiful that he wanted to stride up to her and hold her against his heart. He needed to tell her how sorry he was to have disrespected her with his poisonous jealousy and that he loved her so much that he thought his heart might burst.

He could not do any of this now because there were so many people about. A memory of words read long ago came to him unbidden, that the eyes are the window to one's soul. That was what he would do, use his dark brown eyes to tell her what he needed to say. He hoped she would understand at least some of his message. It was the best he could do for now.

Making her way to the back of their troop carrier, Molly scanned one last time around the FOB. James walked slowly towards her and looked directly and deep into her eyes. Without words, he told her that he had her gift, that he was so sorry he had hurt her and that he would make sure that they talked soon. He was not sure if she had understood how much he cared for her. Certainly her eyes were talking back to him and he felt some hope at what he saw in them.

That would have to be enough for now. They did have to get on with the everyday business of soldiering in Afghan. Still looking intently into her eyes, the captain indicated with a characteristic movement of his head that she should board the vehicle. He followed.

 _It seems Molly didn't get the message as clearly as the captain hoped and was seeking answers in the Sohail scene? I would be glad to get feedback. Thanks!_


	2. Life Cycle of a Butterfly

Chapter 2 Last Morning in the FOB

 _We know a lot more about what Molly has been doing in the time leading up to the journey back to Bastion than we do about Captain James. I wonder if I have captured in this some of what she is thinking and feeling while on leave and on her return to the FOB?_

 _There is another part of this story to write. I will do so over the next few days._

Who would ever have thought just a few months ago that a hot, dusty helicopter ride into the heart of Helmand Province, Afghanistan could feel like coming home to Molly Dawes? It had been almost a full day since she and Smurf had left Brize Norton on the Globemaster: there had been a long, boring wait at Kabul's airport until their chopper was ready to leave and Molly had felt she would go mental if she had to fend off Smurf's clumsy romantic manoeuvres for even one more hour. The chopper fight was almost over now, not far away from the place where she felt most comfortable in the whole world.

On both flights she had dealt with Smurf either by sleeping for much of the time or by pretending to do so. She had been brutally honest with him on their way back to England, stating that if he was the last person on the planet, even if he had a face and personality transplant she would still want to "go without". A warning that she would break his arm should he so much as touch her again did nothing to dissuade him from his persistent attempts to move past being her mate, the only relationship Molly wanted with him. Besides, she was still unable to get the images of Rolex Boy and his young mates, shot in this morning's ambush, out of her nut. Too many people were dying: Molly was fragged and the last things she needed were Smurf's amorous advances.

Sadly, as they neared the FOB today, Smurf's renewed insistence on creating a romantic connection where there was not one felt dangerously like harassment. Some progress had been made, she felt, when they had been together in Newport and then in London. During that time it seemed she was with a mate, someone who truly understood how things were. Both had found they had little in common with people they had known before deployment. Both had changed as result of their experiences in Afghanistan. Very soon she was to find out they weren't the only ones who had changed.

The Dawes family was not as Molly had left it. The old predictable pattern of her mum holding the house and kids together while her dad held up the bar in an assortment of local pubs was gone. For a start, her mum had taken up with Shazza, the teacher, who was fomenting revolution on all fronts in the Dawes household. And then Dave's favourite pub had closed, foreshadowing the spectre of the same happening to other parts of the East End as it became gentrified. The pub closure was a grievous blow to Dave. What was happening to the world?

Soup was actually being made in the Dawes kitchen by this strange intruder who lived in a nearby caravan, who was critical of Molly's army career and who insisted that Dave should help with caring for his children whilst his wife went to work. Who the hell was she? What right did she have to come between the people in Molly's home life? Who was she to inform Molly of her stupid anti-Afghanistan protest marches? Or to offer Molly pity because of the job she was doing in Afghan?

Molly had tried to tell her Mum how much she needed things at home to be the same, to be her bedrock whilst she was away in the alien world of Afghanistan, but everything was changing. It was scary. Molly was not the same, either, her mother informed her. She was still loved, as ever, but she was different now. They all were.

Tensions were so bad in the place that her Nan was actually teaming up with her Dad to fight the influence of Shazza who, Nan was sure, "batted for the other side". The last straw for Molly was possibly Nan's throwaway comment that she herself could, in the past, possibly have been persuaded to bat on the same team as Princess Grace of Monaco, of all people. The craziness of it all led her to phone Smurf, opening the conversation by telling him that her mother was a lesbian. Both seriously disconnected, they acknowledged that nobody knew nor could anyone from either of their families and friends possibly understand being on deployment in Helmand. They were finding their rest and recreation to be unbearable and were worried about their mates back at the FOB.

And that was how they had ended up being together in Newport and in London. Still, she was not sure that it had been a great idea to spend so much time together because she was on rest and recreation to get space and time away from the squaddies who made such demands on her as their medic. And Smurf was getting ideas about their relationship, thinking she might be softening towards him. What a discovery it had been, though, to go to the waterside where the Bossman had been to take part in the scattering of Geraint's ashes. Smurf had commented that she was standing almost exactly on the spot where Captain James had been when speaking some lines from a famous Dylan Thomas poem as part of the simple ceremony.

Molly asked Smurf exactly what the captain had said. With a soft Welsh lilt and his eyes far away, he spoke the words. One of the poet's well-loved lines resonated with Molly. "We're not wholly bad or good" brought back immediate and intense memories of the morning they had left on leave. Molly could hear again, as if he were right there with them, Captain James saying those words to the boys in 2 Section who were reacting with anger and a call for retribution at Sohail's likely desertion. Pleading for more thoughtfulness, James had reminded them that what appears to be on the surface is not always that straight forward. Molly remembered being touched by his plea for restraint and his willingness to consider more than the most obvious option.

Appreciating the respect and kindness the captain had shown to Geraint's family, she had felt at that moment a strange closeness to the boss and was aware that her feelings for him were getting stronger by the day. In a way, the development of the unlikely friendship between her Mum and Shazza led her to think that perhaps there was a chance for an equally improbable relationship between the posh boy Sandhurst graduate officer and the outspoken and uneducated squaddie she saw herself to be. Sometimes the most unlikely people, like the Bossman came into your life and just being with them made you happy. She thought about the boss a great deal whilst she was in Newport. She thought a great deal about them, together, whilst she was in Newport and in London and on the way back to Helmand. Also, all the hours she was awake and in her dreams as well.

Apart from buying her some peace from Smurf, the quiet time on the return trip had helped her to sort through her memories of recent events. As they got closer to the FOB, she realised how important this internal tidying up was for her. She had gone on leave in a confusion of emotions caused by the totally unexpected encounter with the boss in the medical tent that morning. He had let her know that he really wanted her to come back – to him - and she had replied, quite spontaneously, that she would and that he should not worry. She had been thrown totally off balance by his request and by the lingering weaving together of their hands. Thinking about it even now made her all breathless and hot. When Kinders called out to him and the boss hurriedly came back to himself, leaving the tent and giving her instructions about getting ready to leave, she stood stock still, asking herself really what the hell had just happened.

She had not wanted to leave, once kitted up and at the entrance to the compound. Not only had she found out that Sohail was AWOL, making her fearful for 2 Section and the boss, she really wanted to stay behind and to find out what this morning's events had meant. The Bossman reminded her of the ploy he had used, telling her he really needed the Rosabaya coffee whose name he had written on her forearm and pulling rank by ordering her to leave. The look in his eyes seemed to suggest he was finding it just as difficult to let her go. She remembered thinking that this was a whole lot of new stuff to take on leave with her! And she had no idea what to do with it at all. What, actually could a posh officer type like her boss want with a nobody squaddie from East London, like her? Even if he was bloody lovely to look at and she loved listening to him laugh and his smile did her in, every time.

Molly had been aware that the chemistry between them, which she had noticed when first meeting him at their Platoon photograph on the tarmac at Brize Norton, had heated up considerably during their "chance" morning meetings before 2 Section's PT sessions. Over time they had drifted together towards more and more secluded parts of the compound as they talked, both aware of the risk that they might be found out. It was no wonder, thinking back, that they had almost risked everything in the tent that morning. They would have kissed, she was sure, had not Kinders called out and he could very well have just come into the tent at the same time. The implications for their careers would have been disastrous, though part of her was very sorry that there had not been time for more between them.

On the surface the topic of their morning conversations had been, more often than not, their lives back home including their very different families. Captain James treated her as an intelligent, interesting woman. He had made it clear that he was in awe of her courage and commitment to her work and that he recognised how often she went above and beyond the call of duty in helping others.

What Molly was unaware of were the ways in which she was growing in poise and self-confidence as a result of the way he communicated with her as a beautiful woman, as well his quiet recognition of her professional strengths. Others sensed there was something happening to Molly but couldn't say what it might be. That something made her take a little extra time to braid her hair perfectly in the morning, to smile at herself in the mirror, to step joyfully out of her tent into the hazy blue Afghan morning and to greet Captain James with a tentative but beguiling smile. Though she wasn't ready to admit it to herself, Molly had been falling in love for quite some time.

Now, as the helicopter neared the FOB and Molly could see the huge sandbags of the lookout tower, she remembered how right it had felt for her to be in the same place as the boss had been in Newport, just as much as it felt right to be near him in this alien place. Tomorrow she would talk about this rightness when they met early in the morning. There was so much she had to say and to ask him. She could not wait to see him. Would she be able to let him know without giving the game away to the others?

Had he noticed a big change when he had gone home on his first leave from being on tour? How had he found people to be? Had he felt as different as she did? After four tours, he had a lot of experience if he was willing to share some of it with her. He might find her stories about Belinda and Dave interesting. She looked forward to telling him about Nan fancying Princess Grace. It would make him laugh, she was sure. Telling him about feeling such an amateur buying his Rosabaya at the Nespresso shop amid all the toffs, and showing her arm with his writing on to the assistant, would make him laugh. She might even tell him that she had gone over the writing with a felt pen several times, because she didn't want it to fade, ever. Having it turned into a tattoo was a possibility if it wasn't banned in the military. She had so much to say, so many mornings worth…

Clouds of dust rose as the chopper touched down. Noise from the rotor blades made it impossible to make out what the 2 Section boys on lookout were calling as Smurf held out his hand to help her step safely onto the uneven ground. Just for a moment she thought she could see the boss on the top rung of the ladder to the lookout platform, she wasn't sure. The yelling from Mansfield Mike and the others continued and Smurf called back, some smart arse comment which she couldn't make out for the noise. The rest of the boys were waiting to hug them and to ransack their backpacks for shopping they had ordered.

Kinders dropped the first bomb. They needn't unpack, he said, because they were going back to Bastion. Tomorrow. There would be no more morning meetings before PT. Captain James would not be near them much at all, if the time they had spent at Bastion before coming to the FOB was anything to go by. Feeling panicky, Molly decided there had to be some way she and the boss could meet really early tomorrow. She had so much to talk to him about. And she just wanted to be near him…

And here he was, tall and lean, with his beautiful brown eyes and his thumbs stuck high up in the straps of his uniform and what appeared to be a strained half- smile. Immediately she sensed there was something wrong. His curt greeting and equally succinct instructions to her about doubling away to release the relieving medic were worrying. A Captain Stern Face appearance in the medical tent followed, as he laid down the military law about a dumb misdemeanour by Mansfield Mike. Confused wasn't the half of how Molly felt.

Usually gentle teasing could make him laugh. A terse "Why wouldn't I be?" was the response to her asking if he was alright. He seemed unconvinced, really, that she had not been able to get her head around "normal" and had wanted to come back to what he called "abnormal". Molly made a joke of his blistered feet and when he laughed, again she told him she had really wanted to come back. It seemed he was softening, when the call from outside, bloody Kinders again, informed everyone that she had been to Newport, voluntarily.

Molly smiled, seeing this as an opportunity to suggest to the Bossman that she had lots to say to him and it would be good to meet a little earlier in the morning. She quickly changed her mind. His "Went to Newport?" was accompanied by a thunderous frown. More catcalling about Smurf and his prowess with the ladies saw the captain indicate his disgust and hurry from the tent. Molly was astounded at his responses and even more confused about the reason behind his stormy exit.

And then it dawned on her. The Bossman was jealous...of Smurf! If she didn't feel so close to tears, she would have laughed! Smurf, the last man in the world to her, who denied saying anything untoward to the others, but who, worryingly, told her he loved her. This was getting really complicated. One thing was clear to her though. If the captain was jealous of Smurf being with her at Newport, then he really must care for her. Underneath she had been unconvinced that someone like Captain James would want to be with someone like her. She was out of his league, or so she had suspected.

Later in the day Captain James swept past her outside, not interested in her protestations that her time with Smurf was innocent, that they had only hung out for company. She asked if this was the end, not sure herself whether she meant the time in the FOB or what had been growing between them. His response, with the time of their departure, an instruction for her to pack and no answer to her question was hurtful, but she did as she had been told.

Packing was hard and sad for Molly. This had been an amazingly eventful few months of her life and it seemed to be ending all wrong. There was just one last thing to do here, with all her gear now stowed away apart from the few things she would need in the morning and the Nespresso shop package. Taking out the sleeve of Rosabaya, she tied a red ribbon she had brought from home with her around it, finishing with a floppy bow. Captain James was due to be on lookout duty soon. If she waited till it was dark, she should be able to slip into his tent and leave the gift for him. Even if there was to be nothing else between them, she wanted him to enjoy the coffee which was his special luxury. Tired and sad, Molly slept fitfully that night, still not understanding at all what had gone on that day between her and the captain.

And here she was in the blue Afghanistan dawn, moving slowly around the FOB, committing details about the place to her memory. She did not know that Captain James was standing out of her line of sight, watching her closely, noticing that she looked tired and sad and so beautiful that he wanted only to stride up to her and hold her against his heart. Neither did she know how deeply he had been affected by finding her gift on his pillow the night before, realising how hurtful to her his poisonous jealousy must have been. He wanted to tell her how ashamed he was of himself and sorry he was to have so disrespected her and that he loved her so much he thought his heart might burst.

Now he was coming towards her and was looking directly into her eyes. There was something new in his deep brown eyes, a sadness, perhaps? Certainly he seemed to be trying to tell her something as he slowed right down and looked deeply into her eyes. Somehow, she felt a little reassured and hopeful. His gaze told her that he had her gift and that he wanted to talk with her soon. Still looking intently into her eyes, the captain indicated with a characteristic movement of his head that she should board the vehicle. He followed.


	3. Chapter 3

ROAD TRIP TO BASTION

 _This started out to be my interpretation of the final part of the story of the last morning in the FOB. As I wrote it became clear that there were two parts. The trip between troop carrier and hospital is a chapter in its own right. I'll lead them to my imagined second half of that story very soon. It's a profound emotional journey and deserves great care and respect for both Molly and Captain James._

 _Thank you TG and the BBC for these great characters and this story with all its facets and possibilities. Of course you own them and I don't._

Humid, claustrophobic, cramped, downright scary. Molly was sure she would never be able to travel in a Mastiff troop carrier without an awareness in the back of her nut that she was in a potential death trap. And that a platoon of British soldiers in a metal box was a magnet for disgruntled Taliban with a bent for invention and a determination to drive these infidels from their land. Britain, America, it didn't matter where they came from, only that they needed to be eliminated from Afghanistan as soon as possible and without any mercy being necessary.

As the members of 2 Section hunkered down for the long, uncomfortable trip back to Bastion, Molly found herself reviewing the events of the past six months they had spent working from the outpost. Well aware that their retreat back to Bastion was a planned part of the drawdown and that the Herrick tours of duty were coming to an end as the British Army withdrew from Afghanistan, she still had a sense of unfinished business. Why she did not know but waves of foreboding overtook her as they came close to the village with which they had been associated during this last tour.

Captain James sat on the opposite bench seemingly lost in his own thoughts, eyes turned away, not talking to any of the lads, certainly avoiding any eye contact with her. Fingers, Dangles and co continued their banter as Smurf kept up a non-stop commentary from the lookout in the roof of the Mastiff. Not for the first time, Molly noticed how much he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Letting the conversation morph into background noise, she watched though the back window as the desert went by, heat shimmering off the flat, monotonous surface of the sand plain.

Inevitably, her thoughts returned to the pain of the last twenty four hours. Excitement and anticipation had turned to confusion and disappointment, allayed a little by the silent message from Captain James' eyes. Still, she was perplexed by his behaviour and disconcerted at the intensity of her own responses to what seemed simply a bout of male jealousy. It wasn't as if they were married or anything… After all, it had just been some flirting in the med tent before she went on leave. Or had it?

As the vehicle turned into the only road through the village Molly's attention was bought back to the practical details of survival in present day Afghanistan. Given the intelligence the army had recently received about weapons, the skirmishes they had been involved with and the predictions that the place would fall to pieces once they left, she was bemused at the decision to go ahead with the withdrawal. She thought back to Captain James telling her early on in their deployment that he left decision making about policy matters to those higher up from him in the chain of command and that she should do the same. She hadn't, however, been able to turn her thinking off and she doubted very much that he had either, given what they had witnessed and been asked to do since then. Leaving Helmand to the mercies of the Taliban seemed utterly irresponsible, until she thought back to the specifics of their mission which was to get the children of this conflicted region safely and regularly back to school.

Taliban bomb makers reputed to be in the vicinity of the FOB had become increasingly adept at manufacturing explosive devices. Over recent weeks the British officers had held regular meetings in the FOB to share intelligence with Captain Azizi and others of their counterparts in the ANA. The agenda of their meetings had, in the beginning, been mostly about protocols for handing over military control of the Helmand Province as the British wound down their involvement. Recent intelligence had, however, meant an increasing focus on the arrival of strangers in the local area. New faces were to be seen in the market places and among the groups of men gathered to drink coffee outside various houses in the village. The question was what were they doing here?

Even more than the usual number of hostile and hooded stares were directed towards the troops, both British and ANA, on patrol. Increased tension meant some close calls with nervous soldiers needing to be held even more closely in check, fingers off triggers, than usual by their officers. Soldiers like Smurf could be a real worry at times like these with their bravado and as Molly so plainly put it, bullshit. His lack of insight could easily provoke reaction and the real possibility of unnecessary violence. Hadn't she seen it almost as soon as they had first arrived in the FOB?

At that time she had distracted Smurf from his derogatory personal comments to Sohail by physically leading him away from the presence of the tall, solid Afghani. Molly stated that Sohail was one of them and not, contrary to Smurf's accusation, Taliban. She had heard Smurf's personal insults about Sohail's appearance and had noticed the scarring on the big man's face. It seemed at least some of the permanent disfigurement had been caused by burning and she noticed that Sohail flinched at Smurf's jibes. Not that he was admitting any hurt: his reflex action was to engage more closely with the gun he carried, moving his hand down the barrel as if considering whether to fire or not.

Molly was mightily relieved when her intervention seemed to work but from that moment on she was increasingly aware of Smurf's antipathy to their Afghani allies and his apparent need to make them, any or all of them, pay for his brother's death. Sohail's injuries troubled her. She wondered if knowing how they had occurred might help her to understand him better. That she would ever find out was most unlikely, Sohail being a traditional Afghani male with very clear ideas about the place and worth of "females", a term he had disdainfully used when Captain James requested that she be offered chai in the company of males.

Smurf's behaviour troubled her even more than Sohail's had and eventually she had expressed her concern as the platoon's medic to Captain James. Identifying early tour 'dick-waving', the bossman had reassured her that this was a temporary behaviour and one that he had seen before.

The bossman had learned at Sandhurst how to present an impassive exterior to the world when in his Captain Stern Face mode. Little did those around him know how much he could hide behind his officer's demeanour and that was exactly the situation at present. Captain James had so shocked himself with his jealous and childish conduct towards Molly that he was searching deep inside for ways to make amends.

He had never needed his mother and father so much since he was a small boy. Though they would undoubtedly be shocked at his behaviour, they would surely have some ideas about he might make good the damage he had done to her. Most desperately, he needed to know how to bring back the shine to her eyes which were flat, dull and faraway. Glancing quickly at her as she gazed out the back window he saw that she had shut him out, seemed absolutely unavailable to him.

"The kids are going to school," announced Smurf. "Don't run the little bleeders over or it will all have been a waste."

"Our work here is done," the captain confirmed to cheers from 2 Section, except for Molly who leaned forward suddenly, then turned to him.

"It's only boys, Sir. Only the boys are going to school!" And to her the only response he could give was a pathetic excuse about the ANA being in charge now and that it was no longer any of their business. He felt sick with frustration at the wasted effort of their six month mission to get all the local kids to school.

How much more disheartening must it be for Molly, the only woman among them in this Godforsaken country where the first measure of a person's worth was gender. This on top of the treatment he had handed out to her as a beautiful and hopeful young woman. He burned inside with shame, both at his own failings and those of this war blasted place founded on so called male superiority, violence and disdain for women and children.

Molly's faraway expression returned, her shoulders slumped forward as he slipped away again behind his public mask of impassivity. How much longer was this bloody awful trek back going to take? And what the hell was he going to do once they got back to Bastion? He didn't have a clue.

 _Please read and review. I really thrive as a writer on your input!_


	4. WAR and POETRY

Chapter Four

WAR and POETRY

 _The captain seems very insistent that I know and write about his background: not the posh boy stuff but the ideas and beliefs that have bought him to this place where he will soon put his life on the line for his platoon. I have always thought of him as a sensitive and educated man._

 _Molly would probably prefer that I get on with it. She is not that good at waiting out. She is brave beyond belief and commands a great deal of respect from a surprising array of people, some unexpected. The next part of this story is hers._

"Under Fives" was the perfect name for this lot, he mused. Captain James recalled singing "Wheels on the Bus" with four year old Sam on a trip to London three years ago and the "Are we there yet?" question was an inevitable part of any family trip longer than fifteen minutes. Like these soldiers, Sam was not a patient traveller. Come to think of it, neither was he himself even when he had to be a careful family man driving the local kids to the rugby field or taking his mother shopping at the markets. Driving fast on the open road was one of his guilty pleasures. Sam always urged him to go faster, but only when his mother wasn't in the car. His son had probably inherited the daredevil gene from him. Time would tell but he was pretty confident he was right. Scamp loved speed.

What the captain had in common with these youngsters in 2 Section were his need for excitement and low tolerance for sitting still for any length of time. As the boys sang the 'Wheels" ditty he made himself sit still, letting his mind wander back to his school days and to Mr Martin, who had taught him English Literature in his senior year. What a magical teacher he had been! That was the year when James had fallen in love with poetry, both reading it avidly and writing his own.

Discovering the joy of playing with words, of crystallising his ideas and emotions into spare and succinct lines and images, he had begun keeping a journal of his own poetry as well as collecting works of other poets who had caught his attention. Even now he carried a small notebook to record impressions and ideas which he would often spend lonely evenings in Afghanistan wrestling into shapes which pleased him and creating a personal record of his life and feelings in this strange and challenging land. He realised this discipline was a counter strategy to tame his restlessness, to tempt his busy imagination into some moments of peacefulness.

Smiling to himself as he gazed out of the back window of the Mastiff, he wondered what the boys and the only girl, of course, in 2 Section would think if they knew they had a poet in their midst. Taking the piss would just be a start. They might think he had gone soft in the head. It was unlikely that many of them knew much about the heritage of poetry created by British soldiers in World War One to encapsulate their wartime experiences and to give form to the maelstrom of emotions which so frequently accompanied active service. "In Flanders Field" was part of every soldier's training and experience of ceremonial occasions, of course. Coupled with white crosses in military cemeteries, the Canadian soldier's poem never failed to underline for him the reality of the red poppies amongst the myriad war dead in Europe and the ever present risk to all of them of being killed.

With a start, he chided himself for his arrogance. What did he know really about the inner lives of his troops? Perhaps they too had private creative strategies similar to his. He had seen Fingers with paper and pencil, sitting quietly and looking as if he were drawing. When the captain had commented, Fingers had spirited the paper away, refusing to answer enquiries about what he was doing. Brains was another case altogether. James had recognised the private's quick intellect very early on in the piece. He had wondered what flukes of birth and childhood had led to the smart young private having a less than stellar schooling history. Had he been given the advantages of the captain's background, he believed that Brains might very well have been to Sandhurst and be his superior officer rather than the other way around.

Mr Martin's class had studied the World War 1 poets, Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon in particular. Their impassioned lines about the falsehoods used to lure a generation of young men to war, many of them to their deaths, still stirred Captain James' blood and his anger. Probably Owens' famous "Dulce et Decorum Est", studied by generations of students since it was written in late 1917 only a few months before his death in the trenches, best summed up the helpless rage of those lost boys and their resignation to their fate. The captain could still recall the most poignant of those lines, challenging the terrible deception to which those long ago soldiers had been subjected:

"You would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory

The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum Est

Pro patria mori.

Of course it was not sweet and fitting to die for one's country. Mr Martin, with his passion for truth and belief in the young men in his class, had challenged them to question the "old Lie" and to change it.

From that point on, the young James had decided he would become become an officer in the Army. He would become a leader of men, challenging those under his command to be peace keepers, to avoid killing unless in extremity, to take care of one another in the comradeship that evolves in the stress of armed conflict. He had been very glad eventually to have been assigned the "Under Fives" to whip into shape and turn into soldiers capable of serving safely. They had survived so far, not like the last tour during which Geraint Smith had been shot by a sniper. Getting them through this tour of duty and home in one piece had been his task. This time he had almost completed the mission. The only mishap had been Smurf's shooting in the groin and that had been totally due to his own fucking stupidity.

What might seem to others to be a contradiction in terms, had they known his motivation for becoming a soldier and an officer, made perfect sense to him. As well as teaching the class about the English war poets, Mr Martin had introduced them to a masterwork, from the "other" side. Erich Maria Remarque recounted the story of a whole class of German boys, about the same age as the class he had been in, who were subjected to the same "old Lie" and cajoled to sign up en masse by their teacher. Their suffering, just as terrible as that of the Allies, was made less devastating by an officer older than them, battle hardened, cynical, a tough and uncompromising leader who taught them everything he knew about staying alive. Captain James recalled the tragedy of the German narrator of the story, killed by a sniper on a day when it was "All Quiet on the Western Front". The book had a profound effect on him and underpinned the growing belief he had that pretty much everything in the world was, luck, chance, a fluke. Had he been born German at that time he knew without a doubt he would have been just as capable of leading that platoon as this British one, in Afghanistan, one hundred years later.

His belief that people are where, who and what they are through chance had amplified his admiration of Molly's professionalism and compassion in treating a seriously injured Afghani insurgent. By this stage of their tour her dedication to her job, skill at treating wounds and her exceptional courage were evident to them all. She was clearly one feisty and talented person who had no hesitation in going above and beyond what was expected of her. Molly Dawes was being noticed in high places in the military.

Qaseem, observant and perceptive student of people and also teacher of English Literature, had not been familiar with the War Poets until Captain James had loaned him a slim volume of their collected works. Away from the Under Five men and Molly at night, the two of them had discussed the poetry and found common ground in their reasons for serving in the military. Both were driven, at least in part, by a wish to foster peace, both were concerned about protecting and strengthening the young people with them, both admired Molly. Hesitantly, the captain hinted that his feelings towards her were becoming something rather different from professional admiration. Qaseem smiled gently and commenting that he had noticed already, suggested that James should be very circumspect around the soldiers, Kinders in particular. The Corporal was not known for his perceptiveness or discretion or ability to hold his tongue. Qaseem felt a fatherly regard for Molly who reminded him of his daughter killed in a bomb blast eight years before. His grief for his daughter and her mother was without end but Molly had brought some joy back into his life with her Cockney slang and laboured attempts to learn some Pashto, Qaseem's native tongue.

-OG-

Molly was a tight bundle of misery. Their mission to get all the children to school seemed a total failure, for which Captain James had made a feeble excuse. She was feeling overlooked and as if she had been sent to the margins of the whole bloody mess. It was like the bossman was just copping out, again!

Being a woman in this bloody country was so isolating. The role of medic was solitary to start with. Being "beside the captain one hundred percent" was a joke. Nude Nut and co had embarrassed her with their sexual stuff about her and Smurf and as for Smurf himself, she felt like killing him. Most of all, just what was going on with the captain? What was that lingering look before they got on board the Mastiff really about? Was he remembering all the mornings they had met in the FOB before anyone else was awake? The boys were driving her crazy with their boring, tuneless round and round shit song and she badly wanted Smurf to shut his mouth, just for thirty seconds would help. Molly realised her thoughts and feelings were all jumbled up and there was nothing she could do about it in the middle of this bunch of overgrown babies. All she could do was wait. Hopefully she could sort herself out once they arrived at Bastion and she got out of this bloody tin can.

-OG-

Brakes shrieked, the mastiff pulled up hard and a couple of the boys who had been sitting on the edge of the bench seats were tipped forward almost landing on the floor. Colourful obscenities amid cries of "Whoa! Whoa!" followed, but all of them shut up when Smurf started talking again. This time he reported in a measured and professional manner,

"Sheet, pinned down by rocks, looks like there could be a body underneath. Blood all over the sheet. Probably booby trapped."

All the captain's leadership training and his on tour experience kicked in as he made rapid decisions about how to proceed. Later, when he reviewed the events of the day and was writing the required Incident Report for the major in Bastion, he would understand that two factors influenced his decision to investigate the white sheet in the road himself. He would not, of course, be including much of this in the report.

It had, up till that point, been Dangles' designated job to check bodies for booby trapping and the captain's to stand back and give orders. Now that he was so close to bringing all of 2 Section safely back to Bastion and, shortly, home to Brize Norton, he was not willing to risk any one of their young lives any further. It was still his duty to bring them home in one piece and if that meant risking his own life, well then he was willing to do so. Never did he want again to see the look in a mother's eyes that he had at Geraint's funeral.

"I'm ready, Boss," was her immediate message to him. Molly had told him weeks ago that she was one hundred percent by his side. Her response was instant and professional. She was on task immediately and was letting him know. Molly did not even consider any risk to herself.

Her bravery and ability to act immediately had been tested and proven several times already on tour: Captain James deliberately put to one side his personal feelings for her. Out of the whole section she was the soldier with the most skill, capacity for instantaneous response and raw courage. Of course he wanted her nearby if he was going to carry out this dangerous investigation. But he didn't want her close enough that she was as likely to be hurt as he was should the whole thing go tits up. Telling the rest of the soldiers to provide back up and Smurf to continue covering them with the turret gun, he turned to Molly and, grim faced, told her to come with him.

 _I know, I know I should just get on with it. We all find out later, in the trench, how much goes through the captain's mind in the course of a thunderclap. A mastiff trip allows even more time for reflection._

 _As always, I learn a great deal from your reviews of my writing. Please continue…_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _ **I had to stop writing for a little while, especially about explosions. I was mindful of Lady Luck after the terrible events in Paris as one of my sons had been visiting family members buried in WW1 war graves in France and Belgium that very week. He had coffee in a little place just along from the Cambodian restaurant which was targeted by the terrorists, on the Wednesday before the attacks. We have three beautiful New Zealand boys, great uncles now, buried in Europe and one at Gallipoli. They were probably a lot like the 2 Section lads.**_

LOVE?

As the Bossman stepped forward she realised that what she had told him was cobblers. No way was she ready for him to be walking towards that bloodstained thing. Especially after Smurf called out that it had fucking moved. The Boss told her that she was to wait out while he investigated and he'd call her when he was ready. Her? Wait? Hadn't he got her worked out yet?

Waiting was never one of Molly's strengths, neither was thinking through the consequences of her actions, especially where there was risk involved. There was no doubting her steely courage and determination once she was underway with one of her "missions", as the boys called them; what they didn't get was why she so readily put herself in danger, even disobeying clear orders from the Boss not to do so. Of course, twice already on tour she had saved lives by jumping in and taking the initiative. Both times she could easily have been killed but that never seemed to enter her mind. This time **he** was in danger, not bloody stupid Smurf or Bashira, innocent victim of her father's hatred for the soldiers.

Roadside IEDs were a fact of daily life in Afghanistan, unpredictable, lethal and needing to be dealt with in a prescribed and methodical manner in order to preserve life. Captain James was at his best when dealing with dangerous situations such as this. Molly's equal when it came to courage, his advantages were his cool head, attention to detail and wide experience in the field. Insurgents had no qualms about wearing explosive vests themselves so wiring up bodies of the dead was routine to these Afghanis who believed that a glorious death in the service of their Taliban masters was the entry price to Paradise. Dying was no big deal to them. How could you ever counter that kind of thinking? James had come to terms with the tortuous logic of the Taliban and had learned how to detach from the craziness of their disregard for any death, even their own. Not so Molly, yet.

Right now her mind was racing. One instant she was back on the edge of the minefield waiting for the explosion as she crawled on her belly towards the injured Smurf. Next, holding Bashira's gaze as the guy in the spacesuit got close enough to take off the girl's explosive vest. Then, out of the blue, she was back in the med tent in the FOB reading an article in a forces newspaper about Lance Corporal Jacinda Baker. A new Zealand medic not much older than Molly, Jacinda had been killed along with two other Kiwi soldiers when an IED had blown apart the vehicle they were travelling in as part of a convoy escorting a sick soldier to hospital in Bamyan province. She remembered reading that the dead medic had a partner also in the forces. Molly had hoped the Kiwi had been able, before she died, to tell her man that she loved him. Certainly she recalled the chill down her spine as she had thought she would hate to die, or have the Bossman killed before she could tell him she loved him and hopefully hear him tell her the same.

Her hands on the stock of her gun would not keep still. She watched the Boss, back ramrod straight, taking small, calculated steps as he moved the vallon methodically over the dry, cracked earth. She could not bear the tension a moment longer. Glancing towards Qaseem and the 2 Section lads, she stepped forward. The boys, astounded that once again she was ignoring direct orders, yelled at her in disbelief.

The Bossman asked himself, "Why am I not surprised? When did the silly cow ever follow one of my orders, anyhow?" On high alert, his eyes scanning the ground for any unusual scuffing up of the surface, any change in the colour of the sand that might signal that an explosive device had been buried, he tuned his ear for any tiny beep from the vallon that could indicate a metallic substance near his feet. She was soon on his heel and he waited to see how this new Molly drama was going to unfold.

Being afraid was an ever present part of minefield scanning: he had no problem owning the fear he always felt when doing such work. The trick was to manage the hyper-alertness he always experienced, and to remember his personal belief that whatever happened to him was all luck, chance, fluke, anyhow. A death wish was not part of his acceptance of the risks he took, rather he accepted an increased possibility of death and managed the extra adrenalin as well as he could.

He had told Molly to stay back because he saw no point in both of them being in more danger and he knew from experience that she would need to be told directly what not to do…he should have known how she would respond and that it would likely entail disobeying his orders. He really would need to think about putting her on a charge after this breach. This was just too much in front of the others who had seen her get away with bloody murder too many times.

He asked her directly "Have you got a death wish?" as she came up behind him. Her "Maybe", and comment that it was good for them to have some quality time together were hardly surprising. With Dawes it was saner to expect the unbelievable from her than the sensible. If he were honest it was one of the things that drew him to her. Was there a hidden anarchist inside him, he had wondered, who Dawes was liberating? Certainly he had broken and bent rules and regulations time and again since she had arrived in 2 Section and in his personal life.

And here she was, with the two of them slowly walking towards God knows what under a bloody sheet pinned down by rocks and she was telling him that nothing happened between her and Smurf. A classic piece of Dawes shit timing! It was sheer luck their mikes were turned off so the rest of the Under Fives and Qaseem couldn't hear what was going down. That would be a great way for them to find out about him and Molly, he didn't think. He should have been less concerned about his wounded pride and more about her hurt at the way he had treated her over the whole leave balls up. Then this wouldn't have happened. Even so, didn't she get it that this was really not the time or place to sort this shit out!

So then she gave him an "out." His childishly jealous tantrum had told her he really did care for her. She said now she had never thought herself good enough for him. What was she trying to say, really, as they slowly stepped ever closer to the bloody white thing ahead? Shame, that's what he was feeling now in addition to the fear of the task in front of them and confusion at the reasons why she had made such a dumb move in following him and a tiny flicker of excitement as well. He was ashamed that she had felt the need to put herself at such risk just to talk to him. That was his fault, it bloody was!

He found he needed her to be clearer with him. Sensing hesitancy and embarrassment, he thought, in her voice and not being able to safely turn and look directly into her eyes, Captain James asked he what she was trying to say and there it was she was fond of him and he wanted nothing more than to turn and hold her hard against him and to kiss her and tell her how he felt and for this whole shitty Afghani scenario to fade away, so there was just the two of them in the whole wide world.

And here was the irony of their situation that she would tell him in one breath she was fond of him and in the next call him "Sir". The dilemma illustrated in the space of two breaths. Then the reason she had disobeyed him, her fear of an explosion that would "blow them to smithereens" before she had told him that she cared for him. God, he knew how that felt. His mind took him back to the village marketplace, to Bashira in her suicide vest and to the nauseous terror in the pit of his stomach as Dawes kept the girl from moving and setting off the explosives and red-misting them both.

Lady Luck had indeed been generous on that occasion. The captain was not ready to tempt the Lady a second time. He and Dawes desperately needed to focus on the task at hand. Much as it hurt him and much as it had the potential to wound Molly further, he asked that they carry the conversation on once they had completed their journey back to Brize Norton, away from the rules which forbade them to even be having this conversation. Their lives more than likely depended on such a delay, no matter how intense their feelings. And in response to her question, which had more than a hint of her pain and desperation, no, love was not stronger than the rules. "Nothing is stronger than Army Regulations," he replied, his back still turned to her as they inched closer to the bloody shape on the dusty road ahead.

Molly was desperate now. They were almost at the bloody white bundle, which she reminded herself was probably a body, quite possibly booby trapped. After all the hurt since she had returned from leave and the hint of healing from the way the Bossman had looked into her eyes as they boarded the Mastiff earlier this morning, she had taken some huge risks with her emotions by following him, against his orders. If there was any chance at all that they were to be blown up, she really had to know this most important thing in her whole life to date.

He was only a step or two from the bundle, she two or three steps behind him. It had to be now or never, no matter how scary. "Do you love me?' she asked.

Captain James turned and she held his gaze. The question had been asked. Now she awaited the response. Clearly he was shaken by her directness and she noticed that his mouth quivered noticeably as the silence between them lengthened. She had the distinct impression that he was struggling to find the words he needed.

A hand shot out from under the filthy sheet.

 _ **I get a great deal of encouragement to continue writing from your reviews. Please continue to do so, you are much appreciated.**_

 _ **This story is almost complete as you will be aware. Just one chapter to go.**_

 _ **The story of Jacinda Baker is one of the reasons I find the Molly story so moving. For those of you who know about the haka, I suggest you Google Jacinda Baker Haka Burnham.**_

 _ **Burnham is the Army Base where she came from and where she and her fallen comrades were returned from Afghanistan. I am always reminded of the scene in the original OG programme which explains where the programme got its name**_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Love

 _So here is the end of my story. I have really enjoyed looking inside these two to try and understand what makes them tick. As we head into more Middle East trouble in Syria, Iraq and still Afghanistan, I'm still heartened by the potential for love, of all kinds. I think Sohail might have been a bit more loving within the bounds of his "normal" than anyone realised._

Not until he sat down to write the incident report later that evening with Molly did Captain James fully realise the potential disaster they had averted. He shook his head as he recalled just how rapidly those few moments had unfolded. It was a mark of their professionalism that both he and Molly had been able to swing straight away into full action mode. Just as well, because Sohail was in a very bad way and prioritising his evacuation to hospital was crucial. Their own "stuff" had no place in this scenario.

An event such as this one in the theatre of war underlined the sheer common sense of the "no relationships" rule among soldiers serving together. The conversation between them as they had moved slowly towards the bundle in the road had been laden with emotion and concentration was very hard to maintain. God knows his heart had been jumping out of his chest as Molly asked if he loved her. He could recall that his mouth had been dry, his lips quivering and that his palm was sweaty around the handle of the vallon. He was not focussed on the task at hand in any way that reflected his responsibility as an officer leading his platoon through a very dangerous operation. He had needed to rediscover that focus in an instant, a skill that had been a key learning during his initial officer training at Sandhurst. He had ripped the sheet off, identified the person lying there and began an immediate mental checklist of the steps he would need to take, the first being the saving of life.

Luckily, Molly had snapped into medic mode immediately. Actually, NOT luckily; she reacted as he expected and as she had several times before in situations of crisis. Reassuring the big Afghani, she was able to assess at a glance that he needed urgent evacuation and treatment. The Captain ordered the large helicopter that would best suit Sohail's size and precarious medical situation and helped Molly with her efforts to comfort and treat him.

Firmly back in his captain role, James asked Sohail about his ordeal, using his basic knowledge of Pashto to hear the big man's appeal to be allowed to die, there being nothing left to live for. Molly and the captain glanced at one another, wondering about the back story of this ferocious looking soldier, he of the "evil eyes" and scowl. What led to such despair in this man who had been so definite about the differences between their two cultures, who had been loud and clear in his conviction that "Your normal is not our normal"?

And even more shocking, the news that Sohail's terrible injuries were inflicted by the Taliban. Molly was taken back to Smurf's insistence that Sohail was himself a deserter from the Taliban and needed to be shot. Now, her head was tangled, confused, running away with her. How easy it was to make assumptions, to judge without thinking, to be sure without finding out the truth, she thought. Then she recalled how, in her first meeting with Sohail in the FOB, she had stood up for him when Smurf had been so abusive and insulting to the Afghani. Molly had noticed the struggle Sohail had to contain his anger, as Smurf goaded him with comments about his personal appearance and got right in his face, daring him to shoot.

She had deflected Smurf's attention, letting everyone within earshot know that she believed Sohail to be one of them, not Taliban. Still Smurf persisted , even as, it turned out, that Sohail was kidnapped by the very people he was supposed to follow. She felt sick inside: Captain Charles looked equally shocked and they were very glad at the prompt appearance of the medivac helicopter to take the obviously very badly wounded soldier to Base Hospital.

No words were spoken between them on the rest of the road trip to Bastion. No-one in 2 Section spoke either. The only words were Molly's to Smurf and her hands shook , her whole body shivered in shock as she looked him straight in the eye, whispering,

"It were the Taliban! The fucking Taliban bloody near killed him because he wouldn't do something they told him. It were the fucking Taliban wot hurt him, Smurf. So you were fucking wrong!" She dropped her head into her hands and hot tears ran between her fingers. Shamefaces, Smurf turned away without responding.

The captain's head, too, was a tangle of emotions. Finding Sohail in such a state had unnerved him. Privately, he had been pretty convinced that Sohail was Taliban. In one moment his assumptions were overturned and he was certain there was more to find out. He had not liked Sohail's odds of survival as they sent him off in the chopper and hoped desperately that the big Afghani would live long enough to give him more information. Because Sohail had been taken from within the FOB, it was highly likely that someone else within the Afghani forces was undercover Taliban. The potential danger to the ASF troops they had left behind was very real and he needed to communicate with Captain Azizi as soon as possible. No way did anyone want another ambush such as the one in which Rolex Boy and his companions had died.

James recognised that he would have to deal with Molly's repeated failure to follow his orders, especially in such dangerous circumstances. Of course, if he hadn't been such a self centered, jealous fool, she wouldn't have needed to ask him those very painful questions. It was clear now that she did care for him and he had treated her shabbily. Just how he was going to sort this lot out he did not know. The no relationships policy was all very well in theory, but here they both were, desperately in love, two people who in civilian life would have been the most unlikely match. The army had brought them together. Army regulations were keeping them apart.

Now it was vital that they set a course of action that would see them manage their feelings at Bastion and on Cyprus where the section was due to go to wind down and defrag before heading back to Brize Norton. Once back in Britain there would be a lengthy period of leave and they could explore their hearts, minds and he was pretty sure, one another's bodies as much as they wanted.

He decided on a plan, but first he needed to see Sohail. As they entered Bastion and stepped down from the Mastiff he spoke to Molly.

"Dawes, I am going to report in to my CO, then head to the hospital. I want you to meet me there in thirty minutes. Wait out for me there. Take a short break to freshen up and get a clean shirt. That one has blood on it." She nodded and moved off, head down, not looking at any of the 2 Section boys who were hassling her, wanting to know just what had gone on with Sohail.

Thirty minutes later he saw her trudging up the path to the hospital, looking tiny, weary and altogether miserable. His heart turned over to see her in such a state of distress. As she reached him on the verandah, she spoke.

"I'm really sorry, sir. I shouldn't have come after you. It's just I was really worried and I had to let you know that I lo.."

"Ssssh,"he interrupted. "Not now, Molly. Let's go and see Sohail and then we can talk afterwards. We have to write a dual incident report. We can find a private office to do that and then we can talk some…" She lifted her face and gave him a small, tentative smile. Never had he wanted so much to hold her close to him, to wipe away the tears brimming in her eyes, to smooth her hair back and to kiss her, over and over.

And they squared their shoulders, found, from somewhere deep inside each a smile that might reassure Sohail, then walked in to the Intensive Care Unit. The Afghani soldier looked extremely ill. Clearly he was having trouble breathing and the American doctor they spoke to had little hope to offer. Sohail's internal injuries were overwhelming. Struggling to speak to them through his terrible pain, he told them of being kidnapped and beaten with rocks, not because of Bashira directly as Molly had asked, but because he would not do what the Taliban had ordered.

Then he delivered the first of two shocking pieces of news. Bashira had been sent by her father to spy on them. In this, Smurf had been right. Sohail had made it his mission to keep the girl away from the soldiers as much as possible. His insistence on taking her away before Molly had finished treating her injured eye now made sense. Molly felt a wave of sadness for the eleven year old who had been made a pawn of her father's hatred. She had the distinct impression that Sohail had felt a similar compassion for the girl.

God, how they had all read him wrong! How they had loaded him up with their assumptions and Yes, their prejudices. There was a great deal of reflecting to be done about the real Sohail, she realised. From the look on Captain James' face it seemed he was having a similar reaction.

That was not the worst of it, not by a long way. Sohail had been asked to kill someone and his refusal had led directly to this terrible beating. James asked "Kill who?' and slowly, Sohail's hand came up to point at Molly. Dear God, had they hated her this much? It dawned upon her that Sohail, whose normal was not her normal, had been willing to sacrifice himself for her. This was truly overwhelming. Both she and the Captain were stunned. James ran his hand through his hair in bewilderment.

The enormous effort that he had made to speak was finally too much for Sohail, who stopped breathing. Molly's cries that, "He's gone off!" brought the trauma team running and the dying soldier was quickly bagged, intubated and wheeled off for resuscitation efforts. As if in a dream, Molly moved to follow him, but stopped stock still in the middle of the room. Tears ran down her cheeks. She was devastated. Helpless. Stunned.

Captain James took her face in his hands. His slender, sensitive fingers brushed her cheeks and his thumbs gently wiped the tears from her eyes. Never had he looked so closely or tenderly into her eyes as he did now. Without words, he had answered her question. He was going to tell her with words when they met again away from here very soon.

With a sureness and sense of purpose he lowered his forehead to touch hers. For both of them it felt so very right.

POSTSCRIPT

(In an office at Bastion, later that night.)

"We don't have long, Molly. We're supposed to be writing this incident report. Come here to me." James leaned forward and pulled down the blind, leading Molly close to the light switch, which he turned off so that the only light came from a dim desk lamp on the other side of the room. He lifted her up until she was sitting on the edge of the desk. Kneeling down, his face on the same level as hers, he took both of her small hands in his.

"I want you to really listen to me, Molly. Yesterday I treated you very badly over the whole Smurf scene and I am very sorry that I hurt you so much. Finding that coffee on my pillow last night took me back to the day you went on leave, when I realised how much you meant to me. I couldn't say anything with all the others around. When you looked at me, so sad, just before we boarded the Mastiff I tried to tell you with my eyes how I was feeling…"

"I know," Molly interrupted, "I could see something, Boss, but I needed to know for sure. When you was walking down to that sheet I was thinking that you might get blown up and I would never get to tell you I love you…"

He leaned forward, looked directly into her eyes as he had done earlier in the day and said

"Molly Dawes, I love you. I love you so much I think I will go mad sometimes. All I want is to hold you in my arms and to kiss you and to make love to you until we both fall asleep with exhaustion. But we can't do any of that yet. We have to wait out, Molly. God knows how, it's got harder and harder each day and I lie awake at night thinking about you and thinking about us and what I want to do to you and what I want you to do to me…"

She put one finger up to his mouth to hush him, smiling secretly and gently.

"Steady on! Me too, Boss, I love you too. It's not long now till we're due back at Brize. We've both got too much to lose, so let's make a pact to wait out. But first, I need to know just bit of what I'm waiting out for. Kiss me Boss, kiss me hard, now, just once."

 _Thank you to all of you have read and reviewed my work. Please continue to do so. It can be very reassuring to know that others "get" you! I have an idea for something new but probably after Christmas, unless my keyboard gives me the twitches, which is often how I start a new piece._


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